Today marks the three year anniversary of Donna Rose's death and birth. Some of the details fade, but some remain so clear in my mind. I remember walking down the stairs the evening before and telling Ben that our plans for the evening were changing, that I needed to go to the hospital rather than bible study. I remember how worried the ultrasound tech seemed, even though I wasn't shown the ultrasound until after the doctor arrived. I remember how truly AWFUL it seemed to me that the hospital would offer to "terminate" my baby. And that was a decision I was given, not once but twice. I remember how difficult it was for me when I had been flown down to Denver and Ben was still on the road, how the doctors wanted me to make life and death decisions and I wanted to talk to Ben, but couldn't reach him because I didn't know his phone number and he had MY phone and wasn't answering it. I remember picking the option with the best mathematical odds. I remember the doctor telling me that if I went into labor, they wouldn't do anything to stop it. I remember calling my parents and hearing my mother's voice for the first time since I told my dad that I was pregnant. I remember the awful peace I had when I knew that I was having contractions and that my baby was not going to live beyond the day. I remember feeling so helpless and being so grateful for the pain because it was easier to deal with the physical hurt than the emotional hurt of losing my little girl. I remember someone telling me they could see my little girl kick as she was being born (she was breach) though I don't remember who. I remember being told she was stillborn because her heart wasn't beating and I would never get to hold her in my arms while she was alive. I remember the wonderful nurse (I wish I knew her name) who took pictures of Donna Rose for Ben and me so that we would always have precious memories. She posed Donna Rose so that she looked like she was sleeping. I remember getting a call from Medicaid telling me that I had finally been approved, and having to tell them that I was losing the baby. I remember holding Donna Rose for the last time, how cold she was. I remember going to the funeral home and how compassionate the gentleman was when we explained our situation. I remember Ben making the decision to have our daughter cremated. I hated the idea of having my daughter burnt and knowing that I could never hold her again, but we couldn't stand the thought of leaving her behind if we moved. There are so many other memories, but I will save them for another time. Happy Angelversary, my dear daughter! Daddy and I miss you very much.
Showing posts with label baby loss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label baby loss. Show all posts
Monday, October 28, 2013
Friday, March 8, 2013
Due Date take three
Dear Donna Rose,
Today marks the second anniversary of your due date, so you should have been turning two around this time. I wonder what you would have been like. I wonder if your hair would have been long and if you would have had curls like me or straight hair. I wonder what words you would be saying now. I wonder what you would think of your baby brother and what tricks you would be teaching him. Dad and I miss you terribly.
I wonder what life would have been like if we had not lost you. Maybe Dad and I would have stayed in Colorado. Maybe you would have gotten to meet your Grandpa Tim down here. I hope you are having a good time with him in heaven and showing him all your favorite spots. Someday you will show your daddy and me what we need to know about heaven.
I love you very much my dear.
Love,
Mommy
Today marks the second anniversary of your due date, so you should have been turning two around this time. I wonder what you would have been like. I wonder if your hair would have been long and if you would have had curls like me or straight hair. I wonder what words you would be saying now. I wonder what you would think of your baby brother and what tricks you would be teaching him. Dad and I miss you terribly.
I wonder what life would have been like if we had not lost you. Maybe Dad and I would have stayed in Colorado. Maybe you would have gotten to meet your Grandpa Tim down here. I hope you are having a good time with him in heaven and showing him all your favorite spots. Someday you will show your daddy and me what we need to know about heaven.
I love you very much my dear.
Love,
Mommy
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Once more
My Dear Daughter,
Here we are coming up on the second anniversary of your birth and death. It's still very painful for your daddy and me. Two years ago today, I went into the ER in Greeley, a little bit worried because of spotting, but never dreaming that it could mean your death. I remember the worried looks from the nurses and doctors. I remember the cold helicopter ride to Denver. And I remember the pain of everything that happened the next day there. In a couple of years, we will have to explain to your little brother why October 28 is such a special day. I remember so many things about that day clearly. I remember talking to your Grandma Donna on the phone. I remember the sheer exhaustion from being up all night. I remember the pain and the mental numbness of that night. I remember the sense of dread, knowing that I wouldn't get to take my baby home with me. I remember holding you for the first time and how very tiny you were. I remember marveling over how perfectly formed you were. I remember your body heaving in my hands as though you were trying to breathe, but the doctors said your heart had stopped before you were born. I remember dressing you in the little clothes they gave us and wrapping you in the blanket someone had made for you. What a blessing to us was the care that someone took to make clothes and blankets for an angel they would never meet. I remember crying with your daddy. I remember talking to your Aunt Miranda on the phone and the heartbreak in her voice when I told her you wouldn't make it. I remember feeling like I had to comfort her because she sounded so much sadder than I did, but the finality of your death hadn't hit yet. And I remember talking to your Aunt Beth, though I don't remember what she had to say.
I think your daddy and I are learning to live around our grief pretty well. Fewer things make us sad and we can rejoice in the miracle of your short life now. However, we miss you deeply and your absence causes us both a deep pain. As long as we live, you will never be forgotten.
Love always,
Mommy
Here we are coming up on the second anniversary of your birth and death. It's still very painful for your daddy and me. Two years ago today, I went into the ER in Greeley, a little bit worried because of spotting, but never dreaming that it could mean your death. I remember the worried looks from the nurses and doctors. I remember the cold helicopter ride to Denver. And I remember the pain of everything that happened the next day there. In a couple of years, we will have to explain to your little brother why October 28 is such a special day. I remember so many things about that day clearly. I remember talking to your Grandma Donna on the phone. I remember the sheer exhaustion from being up all night. I remember the pain and the mental numbness of that night. I remember the sense of dread, knowing that I wouldn't get to take my baby home with me. I remember holding you for the first time and how very tiny you were. I remember marveling over how perfectly formed you were. I remember your body heaving in my hands as though you were trying to breathe, but the doctors said your heart had stopped before you were born. I remember dressing you in the little clothes they gave us and wrapping you in the blanket someone had made for you. What a blessing to us was the care that someone took to make clothes and blankets for an angel they would never meet. I remember crying with your daddy. I remember talking to your Aunt Miranda on the phone and the heartbreak in her voice when I told her you wouldn't make it. I remember feeling like I had to comfort her because she sounded so much sadder than I did, but the finality of your death hadn't hit yet. And I remember talking to your Aunt Beth, though I don't remember what she had to say.
I think your daddy and I are learning to live around our grief pretty well. Fewer things make us sad and we can rejoice in the miracle of your short life now. However, we miss you deeply and your absence causes us both a deep pain. As long as we live, you will never be forgotten.
Love always,
Mommy
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Dear Donna Rose
My dear daughter,
Mommy and Daddy are missing you something fierce today. Yesterday a song on the CD for the July 4th parade float your daddy rode made him cry. He came home all sad and played it for me and we both just sobbed until your little brother started crying because we weren't paying attention to him. It's such a relief when he cries because we know that he's breathing then. A lot of people have been asking me if your brother is my first baby. I always tell them about you. I love your brother very much, but that doesn't keep me from missing you. Yesterday Daddy's boss took his little girl by the hand to walk her to the back yard and it made me very sad thinking that your daddy should be taking you by the hand to walk you to where you can play with your friends. Tomorrow we are driving up to Aberdeen to visit with your grandma and grandpa. It will be a fun family reunion, but it would be even more enjoyable if you were there. The stair-step age grandkids has a hole in it because you aren't here to fill it. Your cousins are one year apart in age until your cousin Ric. Then there's a gap where you should have been born and an extra year before your cousin Caspian and your brother. We will probably go out to Storybook Land and the lake or the water park. Your brother can't enjoy them yet, but you are old enough so that if you were here you could definitely enjoy them. I imagine that you have even more entertaining and important things to do in heaven. I just wish we could share the special times together.
I love you, Donna Rose.
Love,
Mommy
Mommy and Daddy are missing you something fierce today. Yesterday a song on the CD for the July 4th parade float your daddy rode made him cry. He came home all sad and played it for me and we both just sobbed until your little brother started crying because we weren't paying attention to him. It's such a relief when he cries because we know that he's breathing then. A lot of people have been asking me if your brother is my first baby. I always tell them about you. I love your brother very much, but that doesn't keep me from missing you. Yesterday Daddy's boss took his little girl by the hand to walk her to the back yard and it made me very sad thinking that your daddy should be taking you by the hand to walk you to where you can play with your friends. Tomorrow we are driving up to Aberdeen to visit with your grandma and grandpa. It will be a fun family reunion, but it would be even more enjoyable if you were there. The stair-step age grandkids has a hole in it because you aren't here to fill it. Your cousins are one year apart in age until your cousin Ric. Then there's a gap where you should have been born and an extra year before your cousin Caspian and your brother. We will probably go out to Storybook Land and the lake or the water park. Your brother can't enjoy them yet, but you are old enough so that if you were here you could definitely enjoy them. I imagine that you have even more entertaining and important things to do in heaven. I just wish we could share the special times together.
I love you, Donna Rose.
Love,
Mommy
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Dear Donna Rose
My dear daughter,
Today should have been your first birthday. I should be baking you a cake, buying balloons and ice cream, and wrapping presents. We should have spent the day playing together, just celebrating getting through one year of your life. I miss you so much, my dear. Not a day goes by that I don't think of you.
Love,
Mommy
Today should have been your first birthday. I should be baking you a cake, buying balloons and ice cream, and wrapping presents. We should have spent the day playing together, just celebrating getting through one year of your life. I miss you so much, my dear. Not a day goes by that I don't think of you.
Love,
Mommy
Friday, February 24, 2012
Dear Donna Rose
My dear daughter,
It seems that mommy will have more time to write to you these days. The doctor decided that we need to be cautious with your little brother and has put me on bed rest for the next three months. I'm hoping this works out and that your little brother grows to full term before he is born. Reading my baby books makes me think of you. I never got to this point in pregnancy with you, but my books are now talking about labor and delivery. It reminds me of the day we lost you. I remember the painful contractions and how they hurt more and more the further I got along. I remember allowing them to give me stronger and stronger medications to ease the pain because I was hurting so much emotionally that I couldn't handle more pain on top of it. I remember finally falling asleep after they gave me the epidural and then waking up when the pain got to be too much for the epidural to ease. I remember the sensation of my water breaking and how short a time it took for you to be born after that. I remember holding your precious little body for the first time. You were already gone, but we needed to touch you and to see you. I remember the pain in your daddy's face. I remember dressing you in the clothing they gave us for you. I remember marveling over the perfection of your tiny body. I remember how your arms and legs seemed so long, just like your daddy. I remember your tiny, perfect fingers with their finger nails. I remember the kind nurse who took pictures of you for us. I remember being moved to a recovery room and your daddy going to get tamales and ice cream. The owner of the tamale place prayed for us with your daddy. I remember holding your cold body one last time before we left the hospital. It was so hard to know I could never hold you again. I'd held you for 5 months inside me, and now I'd never get to hold you any more. I listened to your memorial service again this week. Your daddy found the CD as we were packing up stuff to move yet again. I scrambled last minute to find scripture and songs for the service. The church played every song I suggested and read every scripture I had picked. I love you so much, Donna Rose. I will always remember.
Love,
Mommy
It seems that mommy will have more time to write to you these days. The doctor decided that we need to be cautious with your little brother and has put me on bed rest for the next three months. I'm hoping this works out and that your little brother grows to full term before he is born. Reading my baby books makes me think of you. I never got to this point in pregnancy with you, but my books are now talking about labor and delivery. It reminds me of the day we lost you. I remember the painful contractions and how they hurt more and more the further I got along. I remember allowing them to give me stronger and stronger medications to ease the pain because I was hurting so much emotionally that I couldn't handle more pain on top of it. I remember finally falling asleep after they gave me the epidural and then waking up when the pain got to be too much for the epidural to ease. I remember the sensation of my water breaking and how short a time it took for you to be born after that. I remember holding your precious little body for the first time. You were already gone, but we needed to touch you and to see you. I remember the pain in your daddy's face. I remember dressing you in the clothing they gave us for you. I remember marveling over the perfection of your tiny body. I remember how your arms and legs seemed so long, just like your daddy. I remember your tiny, perfect fingers with their finger nails. I remember the kind nurse who took pictures of you for us. I remember being moved to a recovery room and your daddy going to get tamales and ice cream. The owner of the tamale place prayed for us with your daddy. I remember holding your cold body one last time before we left the hospital. It was so hard to know I could never hold you again. I'd held you for 5 months inside me, and now I'd never get to hold you any more. I listened to your memorial service again this week. Your daddy found the CD as we were packing up stuff to move yet again. I scrambled last minute to find scripture and songs for the service. The church played every song I suggested and read every scripture I had picked. I love you so much, Donna Rose. I will always remember.
Love,
Mommy
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Dear Donna Rose
My dearest Donna Rose,
Oh how I miss you. It hardly seems possible that it has been more than a year since I carried you inside me. Now, with your little brother or sister living there, I am reminded of what it was like to have you inside me, to feel you move.
I picked up my copy of "Oh Baby, the places you'll go!" yesterday to read to your sibling. I remember reading it to you with so much love. I had no idea the place you would go included heaven and that the wonderful friends you would meet would not include your daddy and me. I wept through the last pages.
I find that I can't sing to your sibling without a tremor in my voice because I remember the songs I sang to you. Your song was "Lida Rose" from The Music Man, but I always sang it as Donna Rose. That used to be one of my favorite movies, but now I can't watch it without crying.
My life is very different from what it was before you came. There are some very good changes, but also some things that I wish weren't so. I'm so glad I have your daddy. He's the very best part of my life. Your grandpa and grandma (my mommy and daddy) are so good to us too and you have lots of loving aunts and uncles who are sad they never got to meet you.
I'm a lot more fearful than I used to be. When I carried you, I didn't worry very much about the aches and pains. My body was changing for the first time. It was stretching to fit you inside. I worried about school, I worried about the future, but I never worried about you until the day we lost you. With your brother/sister, every ache scares me. Every pain screams "you could lose this baby too!" I am not so innocent anymore. It bothers me to see clueless, happy pregnant women. I want to warn them that you're never safe from losing your baby. Sometimes I really have to bite my tongue. I'm getting better at that, though. People get very offended if you suggest that pregnancy isn't just a walk in the park and a joyful thing.
I am hoping that I continue to grow this year. I hope it gets easier to be joyful and less easy to be terrified. I am hoping that your brother/sister will grow to full term and have a chance to live outside my womb. I still have so much growing to do.
I love you, Donna Rose. I wish I could watch you grow and live.
Love,
Mommy
Oh how I miss you. It hardly seems possible that it has been more than a year since I carried you inside me. Now, with your little brother or sister living there, I am reminded of what it was like to have you inside me, to feel you move.
I picked up my copy of "Oh Baby, the places you'll go!" yesterday to read to your sibling. I remember reading it to you with so much love. I had no idea the place you would go included heaven and that the wonderful friends you would meet would not include your daddy and me. I wept through the last pages.
I find that I can't sing to your sibling without a tremor in my voice because I remember the songs I sang to you. Your song was "Lida Rose" from The Music Man, but I always sang it as Donna Rose. That used to be one of my favorite movies, but now I can't watch it without crying.
My life is very different from what it was before you came. There are some very good changes, but also some things that I wish weren't so. I'm so glad I have your daddy. He's the very best part of my life. Your grandpa and grandma (my mommy and daddy) are so good to us too and you have lots of loving aunts and uncles who are sad they never got to meet you.
I'm a lot more fearful than I used to be. When I carried you, I didn't worry very much about the aches and pains. My body was changing for the first time. It was stretching to fit you inside. I worried about school, I worried about the future, but I never worried about you until the day we lost you. With your brother/sister, every ache scares me. Every pain screams "you could lose this baby too!" I am not so innocent anymore. It bothers me to see clueless, happy pregnant women. I want to warn them that you're never safe from losing your baby. Sometimes I really have to bite my tongue. I'm getting better at that, though. People get very offended if you suggest that pregnancy isn't just a walk in the park and a joyful thing.
I am hoping that I continue to grow this year. I hope it gets easier to be joyful and less easy to be terrified. I am hoping that your brother/sister will grow to full term and have a chance to live outside my womb. I still have so much growing to do.
I love you, Donna Rose. I wish I could watch you grow and live.
Love,
Mommy
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Christmas
Last year Christmas was an ordeal for me. Everywhere I looked, people were celebrating Jesus babyhood and that was really, really hard for me. It wasn't much easier for Ben. It was like slap after slap in the face reminding me that MY baby was in a box on our memorial shelf for her, that I could never hold my baby again.
This year it's a little different. Ben and I got married close to Christmas, so this year I'm looking forward to celebrating our anniversary and Christmas together. This year, it's easier to see the hope of Christmas. It still hurts to think that Donna Rose isn't here. My friend has a little girl who was born close to Donna Rose's due date. He posted that she's started to walk and that brings tears to my eyes. If things had gone they way they should have, I'd have to keep a very close eye on my daughter to keep her from pulling the glass ornaments off of our tree. I'd be happily wrapping gifts to surprise her with on Christmas day. But things didn't work out that way. However, because Jesus came to earth as a baby so many years ago, I have hope that someday I can spend Christmas with ALL of my children in heaven. Without the miracle of Christmas, my daughter's death would be final. We would be separated for all eternity. But because Christ came and because Christ died, I know that someday I will see Donna Rose and we can rejoice in Christ together.
This year it's a little different. Ben and I got married close to Christmas, so this year I'm looking forward to celebrating our anniversary and Christmas together. This year, it's easier to see the hope of Christmas. It still hurts to think that Donna Rose isn't here. My friend has a little girl who was born close to Donna Rose's due date. He posted that she's started to walk and that brings tears to my eyes. If things had gone they way they should have, I'd have to keep a very close eye on my daughter to keep her from pulling the glass ornaments off of our tree. I'd be happily wrapping gifts to surprise her with on Christmas day. But things didn't work out that way. However, because Jesus came to earth as a baby so many years ago, I have hope that someday I can spend Christmas with ALL of my children in heaven. Without the miracle of Christmas, my daughter's death would be final. We would be separated for all eternity. But because Christ came and because Christ died, I know that someday I will see Donna Rose and we can rejoice in Christ together.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Right Now
Today, you should be 6 months old.
You should be rolling all over the place.
You should be making your daddy run after you.
You should be smiling, giggling, and making cute sounds.
You should be eating soft foods, like cereal and 'nanas.
You should be playing on your back with toys hanging on a baby gym
But instead, you're spending the time in Heaven. You've been there a little more than 10 months, my dear. Perhaps you're starting to uncurl your baby wings. Maybe the angels sing you to sleep at night. And perhaps Jesus holds you and hugs you because Mommy can't just yet. It's so hard, my dear, to be left behind. There are days when I would give anything to change places with you because having you gone just hurts so much. Your daddy and I miss you and think about you every day. I wish we could see what you are like. How you grow and develop, if people do that kind of thing in Heaven. I love you, my little rose.
Monday, September 5, 2011
How I'm feeling
Forgive me for turning away when you announced that you have a brand new baby in your life. I can't help it. Part of me is very happy for you, but a lot of me was hurt by your announcement. You see, I should have been able to announce MY brand new baby last March, but in October something dreadful happened. No one knows why. My baby was born too soon, and so I never got to take her home. All these firsts that you are experiencing, I didn't get to do. I had barely begun to feel her kick inside me before she was gone. I had to leave her at the hospital knowing I would never get to see her again. I kissed her tiny cold head and said goodbye. I will never see her first smile. I will never see her first step. I will never send her off to school for the first time, or help her pack to go to college. I will never see her first communion or her baptism. So, yes I am happy for you. But I'm also very devastated for me.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
My Dear daughter,
I miss you so much. You should have been 4 months old yesterday. I keep thinking that now would have been a good time for a four generations picture with My grandma Gracie, your grandma Donna, you, and me. But they never got the chance to meet you, to see you, or hold you. You ought to be a chubby baby right now, so cute in your swim suit, going to the pool with Grandpa Art and your daddy and cuddling with your Grandma Donna. It makes me so sad that you never got the chance to do any of that.
It is so unfair that I didn't get to keep you and there are women out their who neglect or abuse their babies. And women who have baby after baby so they can stay on welfare. I'm beginning to despair of ever having children. Month after month goes by and I can't seem to produce a brother or sister for you. You have lots of cousins and I'm sure you'll have many more. I hope that will do for you, sweet princess. Mommy is getting tired and old and doesn't have much hope left.
Love,
Mommy
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Box
If I had a box just for wishes
And dreams that had never come true ~ Jim Croce "Time in a Bottle"
I don't know why, but I have had Time in a Bottle lyrics running through my head for the last few days. I looked it up online to see a little of the history of the song and it turns out that Croce wrote it for his unborn son. No wonder it makes me cry, especially the lyrics above. After all, I have a box for wishes and dreams that never came true. It is a little wooden box with the picture of an angel burnt into it. It isn't even half full, that's how little my dream came true. Ben and I kept her in a place of honor before we moved. Now she is in our bedroom until we can again put up our memorial.
I miss you so much, Donna Rose.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Spring Grief
Today Ben and I took his father to Fort Collins to view an apartment. On our way back, I saw a woman pushing her baby in a stroller over to a park close to our home. It kicked me in the gut. I should be that lady now. I should be taking my baby for walks on beautiful days like today. I should be fussing over making her comfortable in her stroller and keeping her booties on her precious little feet. I should be chattering away at her as I clean my kitchen and make dinner for her daddy. I should be singing to her to sooth her crying. She never got the chance to cry and I never got the chance to sooth her.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Normally, when I write in my blog, I am upset about something. I come to write because I'm marking a day of significance in Donna Rose's short life or because something I saw made me angry because my daughter isn't here or because I'm feeling her loss keenly. Today, I felt I should write about the way I have been feeling lately.
I will never forget my daughter. I will never wish that she wasn't here with me now. Right now I'm in a place of acceptance. The pain is like a tide at ebb. I know my daughter is gone. I miss her, but I am learning to live around her absence. I am functioning for the other things that have meaning in my life.
More pressing in my thoughts are my school, my students, and my husband (not necessarily in that order.) I'm also thinking about future plans. My husband has been telling me that he wants to move to South Dakota eventually, so I am doing my best to get us there sooner rather than later. I'm thinking about my friends and their problems which are more pressing than my own.
I'm also supporting my husband in his battles against injustice. Because this is tax month, my husband and I knew we were going to be short on cash and were going to struggle to put food on the table, so we applied for food stamps and ever since we've been battling with the department of human services. It seems that hard working tax payers cannot get help when they need it because the system is too busy serving lazy bums, drug dealers and illegal immigrant. It makes us very angry that our taxes fund programs like this which punish people who are trying to better themselves so they don't need to rely on the system and rewards people who abuse the system. Ben also battles with utility providers who make mistakes on our bills, though most of the time they are more willing to work with us to fix problems than government programs.
I will never forget my daughter. I will never wish that she wasn't here with me now. Right now I'm in a place of acceptance. The pain is like a tide at ebb. I know my daughter is gone. I miss her, but I am learning to live around her absence. I am functioning for the other things that have meaning in my life.
More pressing in my thoughts are my school, my students, and my husband (not necessarily in that order.) I'm also thinking about future plans. My husband has been telling me that he wants to move to South Dakota eventually, so I am doing my best to get us there sooner rather than later. I'm thinking about my friends and their problems which are more pressing than my own.
I'm also supporting my husband in his battles against injustice. Because this is tax month, my husband and I knew we were going to be short on cash and were going to struggle to put food on the table, so we applied for food stamps and ever since we've been battling with the department of human services. It seems that hard working tax payers cannot get help when they need it because the system is too busy serving lazy bums, drug dealers and illegal immigrant. It makes us very angry that our taxes fund programs like this which punish people who are trying to better themselves so they don't need to rely on the system and rewards people who abuse the system. Ben also battles with utility providers who make mistakes on our bills, though most of the time they are more willing to work with us to fix problems than government programs.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Can't sleep
When my husband suggested we go to bed more than an hour ago, I knew tonight was going to be another of those nights. He is snoring beside me and I can't seem to get myself to sleep. So many things today reminded me of how things were supposed to be right now. I am supposed to be awake and restless because my baby wants to nurse. I am supposed to be changing poopy diapers and bathing my sweet little one. Yet another friend posted a pregnant picture. She is 27 weeks along, past the magic viability mark. It felt like being jabbed with a pin. She looks so radiant and happy. There is no trace of fear that something might go wrong. I feel horrible for hating her right now because I didn't get to experience that and never will. I know that if my husband and I do manage to conceive again, there will always be fear for me that something will go wrong. I know I will be tempted to keep a pregnancy secret as long as possible just because of fear. But at least Ben and I are not letting fear hold us back.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Dear Donna Rose
My darling daughter,
You're going to be tired of me telling you how much I miss you and how much I wish that I could hold you and nurture you and watch you grow. This week, your daddy decided you should not be alone on our memorial shelf for you, so he brought up your grandmother's ashes and put them next to yours. I never knew your Grandma Sophie, but your daddy tells me she was a wonderful lady. It made your daddy cry. In some ways, he has lost his past and part of his future so all that remains is the present. You were so small, darling, so fragile and innocent. We will never forget you and how you changed our lives.
Love,
Mommy
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Candles for Donna Rose
A tiny beacon glows down here, a little spark of light.
It pierces through the atmosphere and twinkles in the night.
A candle lit in memory of our own Donna Rose.
Our candle burns throughout the day, though many do not see
You're in our hearts in the same way, a secret mystery
You burn inside our memory, our darling Donna Rose.
Our friends each light a candle too. They sympathize because
They know how much we both miss you, so each of them will pause
To light a little candle just to honor Donna Rose.
Monday, February 21, 2011
My Soul Screamed
What happens when a piece of you is ripped away? Last October, this happened to me. My soul screamed. It cried in heavy anguish, "My baby! My baby!" just as in Mathew it says
| "In Rama was there a voice heard, lamentation, and weeping, and great mourning, Rachel weeping [for] her children, and would not be comforted, because they are not." |
So my soul cries since last October. Sometimes my heart's anguish is tempered. I can laugh on occasion. I can enjoy. BUT a piece of me is missing, and every now and again, the rip on my soul pulls wide open and I cry again "My baby! My baby!"
Saturday, February 19, 2011
New Terminology
Since Donna Rose earned her wings, I've entered a society with new terminology. Brand new terms that I would never have thought of before she was gone. Below are a few of the terms I've learned.
Angel Baby - An infant who has died
Angel Mommy - A mother who's child has died
Angel Daddy - A father who's child has died
Angelversary - The anniversary of the day your child died
Cerclage - An incredibly painful procedure to sew the cervix shut to prevent miscarriage
CHD - Congenital Heart Defect
DBL - Dead Baby Land
Earned His/Her Wings - A reference to the death of a baby
BLM - Baby Loss Momma
BLP - Baby Loss Parent
Broken Heart - Intense, sometimes overwhelming feeling of grief
Death - The adversary we fought who beat us.
Fly High (baby name) - An expression of sympathy
Grief - The normal state of being for a BLM or Angel Daddy
Heaven - The place where our baby waits for us to come hold her (him)
Miscarriage - Losing a baby before 20 weeks of gestation
NICU - Neo-natal Intensive Care Unit
Pain - A piercing, agonizing feeling which crops up at the most inconvenient time.
Rainbow Baby - The first child born (and surviving) after the death of an infant
Stillbirth - Losing a baby after 20 weeks of gestation but before he/she is born
Strength - Having a good support system, because while people tell us we are strong, we are really very vulnerable and weak.
Sympathy - An attempt by people who have never been through baby loss to understand. Often is misguided and causes more pain to BLPs
TTC - Trying to conceive
Angel Baby - An infant who has died
Angel Mommy - A mother who's child has died
Angel Daddy - A father who's child has died
Angelversary - The anniversary of the day your child died
Cerclage - An incredibly painful procedure to sew the cervix shut to prevent miscarriage
CHD - Congenital Heart Defect
DBL - Dead Baby Land
Earned His/Her Wings - A reference to the death of a baby
BLM - Baby Loss Momma
BLP - Baby Loss Parent
Broken Heart - Intense, sometimes overwhelming feeling of grief
Death - The adversary we fought who beat us.
Fly High (baby name) - An expression of sympathy
Grief - The normal state of being for a BLM or Angel Daddy
Heaven - The place where our baby waits for us to come hold her (him)
Miscarriage - Losing a baby before 20 weeks of gestation
NICU - Neo-natal Intensive Care Unit
Pain - A piercing, agonizing feeling which crops up at the most inconvenient time.
Rainbow Baby - The first child born (and surviving) after the death of an infant
Stillbirth - Losing a baby after 20 weeks of gestation but before he/she is born
Strength - Having a good support system, because while people tell us we are strong, we are really very vulnerable and weak.
Sympathy - An attempt by people who have never been through baby loss to understand. Often is misguided and causes more pain to BLPs
TTC - Trying to conceive
Monday, February 14, 2011
A Valentine Letter
Dear Donna Rose,
Happy Valentine's Day, my tiny. I hope heaven is treating you well. I'm sure you're making lots of friends with the other angel babies up there. Your father and I miss you very much. We only had you here for a very short time, but you are always in our hearts.Daddy was so excited for Valentine's Day three weeks ago that he gave me two Valentine cards right away. They made us both laugh. Then this morning, he woke me up before he went to class, telling me he needed help with something downstairs and gave me a big box of chocolates. I nearly cried. Your daddy is a very generous man, my dear.
Both of us have a lot of sad days right now. We try to keep each other happy, but songs, movies, TV shows, and pictures on FaceBook have a way of needling at us until all we can do is cry. We are trying to be strong and heal because we know that you're happy where you are and that Jesus is taking very good care of you, but we miss you, Donna Bear.
Last Saturday your daddy and I renewed our wedding vows. I think we wanted everyone to see that we REALLY meant what we said on the day we were married. My grandma and uncle came out for the ceremony and your Grandpa Tim was there. The church was very kind in welcoming them all and I think they felt very loved.I miss you, my little rose.
Love,
Mommy
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